


Day One: Blood/Flesh/Bone

by Euphorion



Series: Writober [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Shapeshifting, i stressed about their diner orders more than anything else in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 00:49:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8182562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euphorion/pseuds/Euphorion
Summary: Written for the first day of Writober. Kuroo, Kenma, Bokuto, and Akaashi are shapeshifters. Also there's an american diner for some reason? Shh.
+ 
 

  This was something he was still trying to understand. The physical fact of it—the shift of skin over muscle that became, subtly, different skin over different muscle, the grind and restructure and restructure and grind of his bones—was becoming familiar, would, with a little more practice, become second nature. (If his panther form had been able to smirk, he would have; instead he made a mental note to tell Kenma that one. Get it? Second nature?) But the awareness that came with it, an awareness that was neither human nor animal but something larger, some instinct of the thing he truly was now, that he had not quite gotten used to. 

  It was tugging at him now, pulling him onward through the velvet, pine-scent darkness. There was something here—something wrong.





	

With every padding step the scent of crushed pine needles filled Kuroo’s hyper-sensitive nostrils. The forest around him teemed with life—mice and voles and insects too small for him to bother with rustled and ran about their business. The moon filtered in through the canopy of leaves above only in thin lances of light, but it didn’t matter to his sharp eyes—he could see exactly where he was going, perhaps better than if he were doing this in daylight.

Of course, he wouldn’t have to do this in daylight. In daylight this was just the woods behind his house, a good place to sneak off and have a cigarette, but otherwise irrelevant. But at night, the Cat in him knew it was his, and should be defended. And tonight, unlike most nights, he felt as if there was actually something he needed to defend it from.

This was something he was still trying to understand. The physical fact of it—the shift of skin over muscle that became, subtly, different skin over different muscle, the grind and restructure and restructure and grind of his bones—was becoming familiar, would, with a little more practice, become second nature. (If his panther form had been able to smirk, he would have; instead he made a mental note to tell Kenma that one. Get it? Second nature?) But the awareness that came with it, an awareness that was neither human nor animal but something larger, some instinct of the _thing_ he truly was now, that he had not quite gotten used to. 

It was tugging at him now, pulling him onward through the velvet, pine-scent darkness. There was something here—something wrong. That awareness had alerted him of it as clearly as if he’d set up a peripheral alarm, and now it was leading him toward the intruder.

There, on a branch. Dappled moonlight, no, feathers—hunched wings, a face that swiveled to stare at him. His panther brain said _prey_ , his shapechanger brain said _intruder_ , and he had the thing on the ground, the joint of its wings between his teeth, before his human brain registered it as _owl_.

If the thing hadn’t raked a talon across his face, he might have closed his jaws, and then things would have been very different. Instead he opened his mouth in a pained yowl, the bird somersaulted backwards out of his grip, landing in an awkward, un-owl-like pile, and as he gathered himself to spring on it again it began to change.

Its hunched shoulders rose, the feathers shortening, the brindled pattern fading to pale skin. The luminous eyes—so bright as to almost be moons themselves—shrank, but lost none of their brightness. The tufts of feather that gave the great horned owl its name grew, rather than vanishing, becoming odd points of grey-black hair, and then there was a boy crouching in the woods behind Kuroo’s house, his face wary.

Kuroo hesitated, and then let his own Cat self go.

As he did, the wariness on the other boy’s face dropped away into a smile. “I knew it,” he said, extremely proud of himself. "It didn’t make any sense for there to be a panther in a residential neighborhood.”

Kuroo stared at him, unimpressed. “Brilliant,” he said. His cheek stung. He ran his fingers along his jaw, and they came away bloody.

“Oh, shit, dude,” the other boy said, straightening up. “Sorry about your face.”

Kuroo was about to snap at him—pain and the shapechanger’s hostility about this _other_ in his territory temporarily overwhelming all his confusion—when there was a second cat’s wail, and then something flapped awkwardly over to the two of them.

It was a second owl, this one dark and brindled with brown and grey, and in his talons he carried Kenma in his orange house-cat form, hissing and swiping wildly with his claws.

“Hey!” Kuroo protested, and plucked Kenma from the bird before it dropped him. “Kitten, what are you doing here? Are you hurt?”

Kenma nuzzled his hand reassuringly, and Kuroo curled his arms around him and glared at the boy. The dark owl made a lazy circle around them all and then also began to change, mid-flight, graceful. He alighted next to the other boy like it was as easy as stepping down from a stair. He was tall, with dark hair and lazy dark eyes that seemed to take in everything and nothing around him.

“Found him watching you,” he said. It was unclear if he meant his friend or Kuroo.

“I assume he’s one of us, too?” the first boy asked.

“Not sure there is an us,” the second answered shortly, still looking at Kuroo.

“Neither am I,” Kuroo agreed. “Who the hell are you guys, and what are you doing in my woods?”

The first boy grinned. “Bokuto Koutarou,” he said, “and this is Akaashi.” He jerked his thumb at his friend.

“Your woods?” Akaashi asked, as if Bokuto hadn’t spoken. “Says who?”

“Says me,” Kuroo snapped back. “The panther. Whose territory you’re in.”

Akaashi cocked his head at him just slightly too owlishly far. “And how long have you been a panther?”

Kenma nudged up under Kuroo’s jaw. “None of your damn business,” he said, but with less bite. He ran a hand down Kenma’s back.

“Hey now,” Bokuto said, “let’s not fight. I wanna learn things! And I’m hungry.” He made a face at Kuroo. “Your woods have a lot of very tasty-looking mice.”

Kenma wriggled in Kuroo’s arms and Kuroo let him down. Like Akaashi, his change was graceful—a simple matter of shortening hair and lengthening spine, and there was Kuroo’s best friend, as curled in on himself as he had been in cat form. “We could go to the diner,” he suggested, sounding bored, as if he hadn’t just casually shrugged off an animal form like it was an old jacket and wasn’t now standing in the woods at 3 AM with two people who used to be owls.

Akaashi and Bokuto stared at him. Kuroo didn’t really blame them—Kenma was weirdly captivating, especially when he still had that hint of a purr in his voice.

Bokuto recovered first. “Great idea. Pancakes!”

Akaashi sighed. “Pancakes,” he agreed. He glanced at Kuroo. “And maybe some information.”

Kuroo shook his head. “If you’ve got any, we’d love to hear it.” He lead the way through the woods to the road, avoiding his yard. The last thing he needed was to wake his parents tromping around with Kenma, two strangers, and his face all scratched up.

Over pancakes with strawberries, whipped cream, and a side of sausage (Bokuto), two eggs sunny-side up with home fries (Akaashi), a cheese omelette, fries, and a chocolate milkshake (Kuroo) and bottomless cups of black coffee (Kenma), tensions eased. Kuroo had made a beeline for the bathroom when he got in and the damage to his face wasn't _too_ bad, and the shapechanger sense of _intruder_ had faded with the panther’s territorial instinct. Bokuto and Akaashi didn’t really seem hostile, just wary.

Well, Akaashi seemed wary. Bokuto seemed...earnest.

“Dude, I am so so sorry about your face,” he kept saying. “Man, if I had known—I didn’t even think, it was so stupid, and now your handsome mug’s all messed up, what if it scars over—”

Akaashi nudged him with a shoulder and then kept the contact up, shifting minutely closer in their half of the booth. “It was self-defense, Bokuto-san,” he said softly. “You were attacked. You reacted. It was natural.”

It was impossible to tell from his low, almost monotone voice if he was accusing Kuroo of anything. His eyes— green, it turned out in the harsh diner light—drifted over Kuroo’s face in a way that made him feel warm. He sipped his milkshake. Next to him, Kenma sipped his coffee.

“What were you doing in my woods, though?” Kuroo asked. 

Bokuto suddenly seemed consumed by consuming his pancakes. Akaashi glanced at him, and then said, “we were looking for a place to sleep.”

Kuroo frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

Kenma stole one of his fries, dipped it in his milkshake, and ate it. “You don’t live here in town,” he said. “I haven’t seen you in school.”

Akaashi shook his head.

Bokuto, through a mouthful of pancake, said, “Dad kicked me out.”

Kuroo blinked at him. “Why?”

Kenma said, “he found out you were a shapeshifter?”

There was a long pause. Kuroo reached for his straw, but Kenma stole it from him to take a sip. Kuroo rolled his eyes fondly, and looked up to find Akaashi watching them. Bokuto, too. There was still something of the owl about both of them—a strange, almost wistful watchfulness.

“Nah,” said Bokuto finally. “Nah. Not that.”

“We’ve on the road for a while,” Akaashi said. “You are the only other shifters we’ve seen.”

Kuroo nodded. “Same here,” he said, pushing the rest of his fries into the middle of the table. “Do you know, like.” He stopped, struggling for words.

Akaashi shook his head. “No,” he said, answering the question anyway. “It just...happened. Bokuto first, then me.”

Bokuto took a handful of fries and dropped them into his mouth. “I think it’s awesome,” he said. “I think it’s superpowers. We’re like the X-Men.”

Kuroo grinned despite himself, messing with his straw with his teeth. “It is pretty fucking cool,” he said. “And, like. Instinctual, you know? Like. Second nature.” He looked sideways at Kenma. “Get it? A second nature?”

Kenma rolled his eyes at him over the rim of his coffee cup. Bokuto burst out laughing, a startlingly loud guffaw that made the waitress behind the counter—asleep on her feet—jump and glare at them. 

Kuroo turned to face him in delight. He was a lively picture when he laughed—his wide-eyed face so dynamic and purely joyful that Kuroo ended up chuckling at his own joke, and then outright laughing when he caught side of the just-as-pure annoyance on Akaashi’s face, the way he stuck a pinky in the ear closer to his friend and muttered, “Bokuto-san, _please_.”

Bokuto subsided, slinging an arm around him and pulling him against his side. Akaashi let him, the annoyance in his face slipping away to be replaced by the subtlest of pink blushes.

Kenma—coincidentally? Surely?—pressed his leg a bit closer to Kuroo’s and said, “you two can stay with me.”

Bokuto and Akaashi stared at him. So did Kuroo.

“What?” Kenma said defensively. “My brother’s off at university, I’ll put some newspaper down in his room and leave the window open and you guys can be in there. Just keep the lights off and no one will know.” He stole another sip of Kuroo’s milkshake. “If you’re quiet, you could even go human and sleep in his bed, so long as you don’t mind sharing.”

Bokuto and Akaashi didn’t look at each other, but they also didn’t move. “We don’t mind,” Bokuto answered for both of them. “Thanks, catboy. That’s seriously generous of you.”

Kenma narrowed his eyes at him. “Call me catboy again and I’ll rescind the offer,” he threatened.

Kuroo smirked. “I dunno, Kitten, I think it suits you.”

Kenma bared his teeth at him, and Kuroo laughed so as not to make too much of the smile Kenma was trying to hide, the chocolate in the corner of his mouth.

Bokuto sighed theatrically, and Kuroo tore his eyes away and looked at him. “You know,” he said, leaning back in the booth, looking nothing like a homeless, possibly disowned kid and everything like a lazy Roman emperor, “I think we’re gonna be okay.”

Kuroo looked from him to Akaashi, sopping up the last of his eggs with his toast, to Kenma tilting back the last of his third cup of coffee. It was 4 AM. He was going to be seriously exhausted in school tomorrow, and that was after he would have to explain the three-inch long gashes in his face to his parents. There was a non-trivial possibility that two people he just met were going to be discovered to be stowing away in Kenma’s older brother’s bed by Kenma’s parents before _that_. He had a whole other self in his head, sleek and currently sleeping, waiting to prowl, and it wanted something. Something undefined and as yet unknowable, something that had brought him here, to this diner with these people.

He took a long sip of his milkshake. “You know,” he said, “I think you’re right.”


End file.
